The Special Cheese
by HayWir3d
Summary: Chef!/Rastamouse crossover When Everton blows the budget on "special" cheese. The resulting taste test leads to a mind-blowing misadventure for Gareth, Janice and Everton. Will everything turn out irie?
1. Chapter 1

"Everton."

"Chef."

"Everton."

"Chef."

"Everton!"

Two men, Chef Gareth Blackstock and Everton Stonehead stand in the middle of a well used and even more well stocked kitchen. As usual Chef is outraged and Everton, more often than not the focus of this rage, is staring down defensively while he get's bawled out.

"I'm sorry, Chef. I told you I was trying to help and you told me to do something."

"Yes Everton. Something. And when I tell someone like you to do "something" there is a very limited number of somethings allotted to you. "

"Chef, I..."

"For instance! Someone of your skill set could check underneath the table for bits of fallen produce! Or perhaps go into the alley and reorganize the dustbins and not just those of our restaurant Everton, but those of the adjoining shops because we maintain a good neighbor policy here; don't we Everton?"

"Chef..."

"Or maybe you could just go into the lavatory, stare deeply into the mirror and try to use whatever feeble faculties are available to you and try desperately to figure out at what point your mother and father went wrong."

Blackstock points to the huge crate sitting on the floor between them and waives a bill of sale in front of Everton's face. The crate is open and filled with cheese. Bright orange cheese. With holes like swiss. A kind of cheese that doesn't typically exist outside of a cartoon.

"What you do NOT do is take the liberty to try and order food for the restaurant. Food that on a later date actual people will be expected to actually eat. And if, and if by the slightest chance of an earth-shaking, thick-headed, short-sighted mistake someone actually left you alone with the papers necessary to order food it wouldn't be cheese, Everton. Something that is so proudly, so time honored, so intensely British as cheese would not be left to the "judgement" of a bumbling, mouth breathing manchild such as yourself. And when ordering this cheese you would not order it from the Caribbean, a place not at all known for cheese or in fact anything remotely consumable. And it would not be simply called "special cheese" because you think the name is amusing."

"Stock... Chef I didn't think it was funny, I thought it sounded a bit posh. You know, quality."

"Quality cheese, Everton, does not come in a crate from which I just saw with my own eyes, three giant rats run."

"Them weren't rats Chef, they was just little mice."

"Oh! I humbly apologize Everton! They were just mice? Then please call them back and invite them to take up residence in our humble kitchen. Perhaps we can fix them a little something! Tell them to bring the family! Any top kitchen worth anything would be happy to have filthy disease-ridden vermin crawling across the food!"

"As you have spent about an eighth of our entire food budget on this blunder; we, meaning me, are going to have to figure something out before Janice finds out what I have allowed you to do. Now we are going to attempt to eat this so called cheese now. And you had better wish with every fiber of your pathetic being that it is of at least a high enough quality that its taste and texture will vanish upon being introduced to legitimate, fit for human consumption ingredients. If we can bury this somewhere within the glorious depths of one of my masterpiece recipes you might come out of this still breathing and Janice... is standing right behind me; isn't she?"

"Yes Chef."

He turns to face the beautiful, intelligent and at the moment extremely intimidating woman standing behind him. His wife. The love of his life and right now, a threat to his very existence.

"Oh yes Gareth. I'm just quietly considering the most painful way to end you."

"Listen Janice I can exp..."

Her calm expression instantly vanishes, replaced by the eruption of fury that was hiding beneath it.

"I have told you time and again that this place is in trouble. We have to reign in the spending. I should have made it clear that by reign in I didn't mean 'make it rain.' How, under your watch, do you account for $325 pounds spent on cheese?"

"Janice please, this can be salvaged. Everton and I are just about to try it and..."

"We will ALL three try it Gareth. And if this isn't the most delicious thing to ever cross my lips. If this isn't the single thing needed to put this on the map and save us from financial ruin, I will murder you both. Immediately. I promise. I will murder you probably through sheer force of will."

Chef expertly slices away portions of the cheese and they all take one. Looking at each other as if participating in a dare, then simultaneously eat. Their expression of dread are immediately replaced with that of confusion.

"Everton" Chef said, "this is not the most horrible excuse for cheese I have ever eaten."

"Yes Chef"

"Oh and one more thing Everton... You appear to be turning into a doll... and ah yes, we are shrinking."

"We are Chef."

"Ah Chef? There's a big rastafarian biker mouse puppet running away with your wife on his shoulder."

Chef turns in time to see a large round rat with a black bandana, adorable black leather jacket and Janice tossed over his shoulder like a rag doll.

Chef began to pursue them but tripped, falling face first and looking up helpless as the distant grew. Janice looked to her husband.

"Gareth!"

"Janice!"

"Gareth Blackstock, after you rescue me, I'm going to KILL you!"

"Janice!" Blackstock said staring in disbelief then looking around even disbeliefier!

"Everton!"

"Chef?"

"Everton! Janice! Giant Rat took Janice...cartoon rat we ah...we what are we gonna do?" Chef grabs Everton by the shoulders. "A GIANT RAT, EVERTON!"

"Well actually Stock. Chef... it's not giant. We just got shrunk and all, yeah?"

"WHAT!? EVERTON, WE HAVE TO DO SOMETH.."

"Wha gwaan, mi odd lookin' breddas!?"

Chef and Everton both frozen in a very familiar pre-Everton strangulation pose; both slowly turn to the source of the new voice. Standing in front of them was a huge mouse in a white tee shirt, gold chain and a dreadlock hat. They stare in stunned silence as the monstrosity continues to speak.

"So dat bad dood don bin taken your likkle wife away. But don't be worry! Rastamouse gonna save the day. So before ya get stress and ting and 'ave a heart attack. Mi got a crucial plan. Wi gonna get her back!"

They stare for a beat before they both erupt in a terrified, high-pitched scream that echoed for miles.

Some time later after both men have calmed down and became as comfortable as anybody can that they're talking to an anthropomorphic mouse puppet; they sit with the rastafarian mouse, now joined by two others; a female with a pink bow on her head and a chubbier mouse with a backwards baseball cap, trying to figure out the situation.

"Okay so my beautiful wife has been kidnapped by a renegade, criminal mouse that you and your partners have been in the middle of a police operation to apprehend?"

"Nah bredda! Wi not da police. Wi be a wicked band!'

"A wicked band of what?"

"A wicked band of reggae riddims! Wi play dem hot tunes and den wi be solving crimes on da spare times"

"So you help local law enforcement on your island of uh..."

"Mouseteego Bay, bredda! And no wi pretty much da only law enforcement around. President Wensleydale don tell us about a bad ting den we go make dat bad ting good! We pretty much da whole Mouseteego Bay government; Da president and our reggae band... actually now dat me tink about it dat does seem a bit odd... But what matter at dis moment is we gotta get your wife back and we gotta stopped him teefin of wives and ting."

Chef stares at the mouse in confusion then shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm sorry, you don't appear to be speaking English but I did catch in there somewhere that we're going to get my wife back and that is literally all I care about at this moment, so let's follow them and catch that toerag!"

"Nah bredda, dat not how dis work. We not gon follow dem. We gotta follow da clues! But first, a little jammin'."

Suddenly the three mice are holding two dimensional instruments and playing a generic, repetitive reggae tune.

"What the hell are you doing? We have to get my wife!"

"It's all cool, man! Ya gotta feel dese vibes and take it easy! Just wait for it"

"WAIT? Wait for what? We..."

Suddenly as if by magic a small hand-held radio (also two-dimensional) appears on the floor in front of the band. It begins to shake and a booming voice immites.

"Come in. Come in. This is President Wensleydale. Do you read me? Listen up you tree. The guys who you're with that got shrunk today. One of the guy's wife was taken away. Dat biker mouse TwoWheels him needs to be caught. Bring dat mouse to justice, I'll like that a lot."

Suddenly the mice jumped into action putting down their instruments and putting on their rollerskates.

"Allright Easy Crew sounds like we got a mystery!"

Chef, unable to take the nonsense anymore, flew into a rage.

"What? We already knew there was a mystery! We SAW IT HAPPEN! That radio just told us everything we just saw happen! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

"Dis da way it works," Rastamouse answered. "First Wensleydale interrupts our jammin' session. Den he tell us bout dem mystery. Den we go solve it. Usually in ten minutes. Now mi got no more time ta argue wit ya we gotta tink proppa bout dis mystery. Da way I see it wi got options. First we gotta figure out who it is been stealing dat stuff and your wife and ting"

"We know who-"

"It could either be the enormous chef Bandulu... him a chef too, make da most irie cheese pie ya ever tase!"

"It could be Natty Kas; female fashion designer make dem wicked new treads!"

"It wasn't a female mouse, it w-"

"It could be that new mouse dat drove to town on dat big motorbike been pushin' other mice 'round and causin' dat trouble..."

"I've got it! We gotta go talk to Bagga T, Gangsta Rappa and Orphan caretaker. Him a great mouse! Wi know him for years. You gonna love him! Alright Easy Crew... and strange deformed creatures... we got a mystery to solve. Let's go make a bad ting good!"


	2. Chapter 2

After arriving at the orphanage (after a bizarre skate heavy transitional sequence); they arrive at a small orphanage. In front of the door stood a beefy mouse in a black dew rag, a string vest and a healthy dose of Mr T style bling. Rastamouse approached the tough looking rodent and they did a secret handshake.

"Bagga T! Wha gwaaan mi bruddah? We lookin for dat motorcycle ridin teefin' mouse done stole dis doods ol lady! Ya seen'm somewhere?"

"Mi names Bagga T bagga trouble double g. A biker wit a lady me really nah see."

Rastamouse nodded.

"Nah worries Bagga T. If ya see anything could you send dat word out to us?"

"Mi names Bagga T bagga trouble double g. If mi see any trouble mi let ya know quickly."

Chef had had enough and stepped in.

"What is he talking about? Why are we here? Why does he keep saying his own name?"

Turning to yell directly at the stoic mouse.

"Why do you keep saying your own name?"

Bagga T stepped forward, ironically towering over the human.

"Mi names Bagga T bagga trouble double g and mi nah like the way ya be talk' ta mi"

Rastamouse rushed to break up the situation.

"Nah Bagga T he cool he cool, he jus much much stress about losing his woman. We gonna take off and I rap with you later."

"Mi names Bagga T bagga trouble double g. I be talkin to you later and ya know where I'll be."

Chef, now pushed to the brink of madness by the interchange, did not stop ranting throughout the entire skate transition. Rastamouse made the quick decision that they would not go question Bandulu. This human thing was stressed enough as it was and to be honest his weird, incredibly high pitched voice even got to Rastamouse on occasion. It would probably drive this guy nuts. Though he did think they would get along given other circumstances, I mean they were both master chefs. Bandulu had an incredible arsenal of recipes, making everything from cheese pies to cheese pies and there was that one time he even made a pie without cheese. Now that was a crazy adventure! So many bad tings...so much makin' bad tings good. It's been a crazy life. Suddenly he shook his head, snapping out of it and getting back on the case. This was the bad ting he needed to be thinking about. This was today's bad ting!

Their visit with Ice Popp ended incredibly quickly with them dragging a screaming chef out of the door.

"SHUT UP SHUT UP! STOP MAKING THAT POPPING SOUND! STOP IT! WHERE IS RAT POISON WHEN YOU NEED IT!?"

Rastamouse thought maybe they should skip the rest of the idle chit chat that had become such a central part of his crime solving technique. They should probably just go ahead and do the consultation with Wensleydale and then the elaborate bad guy trap!

"Alright crew...mi tink mi got a sollution but mi need ta go whisper it to Wensleydale first!"

Short transition and they arrive at Wensleydale's Presidential palace.

Walking into the estate, Rastamouse approaches the politician.

"Wensleydale!"

"Dat's President Wensleydale, Rastamouse! Show some respect. If not for me, at least for the office!"

"Huh? Wha gwaaan?"

"Mi nah no Rastamouse. Dat's just someting PBS makin' us add when we broadcast in the US"

"Ah, mi see what ya mean. anyway me tink we got a crucial plan to solve dis mystery"

He whispers into the mouse's ear for a much shorter period of time than it would actually take to communicate a "Crucial Plan."

"Ah Rastamouse. Dat plan dey sound proppa!"

They soon left the mansion and Rastamouse gathered the team together.

"Alright, here's what we gon do. We need ta pass out dis big pile of printed flyers mi suddenly got in mi hand. Make sure all da mouses in Mouseteego Bay get one. Scratch, you do pass dem out on da east side."

Scratch nodded taking a stack of the flyers.

"Ya know what I'm saying!"

Chef, using every fiber of his being to not call her out on the fact that as of yet 'ya know what I'm saying' has been the only thing she's said all day, watched, interested to see where this was going.

Zoomer you pass dem out over'on dat west side.

"Sure ting Rastamouse! Zoomer zooming away!"

"Stop it Zoomer! Mi tol' you, ya nah got a catch phrase yet!"

Zoomer lowered his head and skated sadly, but quickly, away.

After they left, Rastamouse turned to Chef who was now by himself because the author had yet to think of any further purpose for Everton in the story.

"Chef I'm gonna let you in on mi crucial plan. Wi gonna set up a big competition for bes tricks on da motorcycle and da winner will recieve dis motorcycle!"

"Why would a biker who already has a motorcycle enter a motorcycle contest to win a motorcycle? That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard in m-"

"But ya nah heard the bes part! Dis not actually even a real motorcycle my friend. Ya see? It jus a two dimensional board painted to look like a supa wicked motorcycle!"

Chef looked confused.

"But ah Mr Rat...every object in this ridiculous world is just a two dimensional board painted to look like a real thing. See this watering can? Flat. Not real. Painted."

"Oh" Said Rastamouse. "Mi nah tink of dat. In dat case..."

Suddenly Rastamouse' eyes grew wide as if he was having an epiphany that would rock its reality to its very foundation.

"In dat case dis must be a real motorcycle after all! Mi wonder where wi get da budget for dat..."

Suddenly Zoomer came back, interrupting their spiraling conversation.

"All delivered Rastamouse...but the ting is mi wonder who gonna come. nobody in town own a motorcycle."

"Ah you jus wait and see Zoomer. Mi tink wi get at leas one entry! Oh Zoomer. Make sure you also give a flier to dat mouse dere. da strong biker one wi see earlier!"

Chef did a double take.

"Oh you mean this mouse? This one!? The only biker in this town and the only mouse that you don't in fact consider a close personal friend? THE ONE THAT WE ACTUALLY SAW TAKE JANICE. JANICE, WHO I MIGHT ADD, IS TIED UP ON THE BACK OF HIS MOTORCYCLE?"

Rastamouse nodded.

"Ya right chef.

"Zoomer. Get him..."

Chef smiled finally seeing some sanity.

"...an extra flier. 'Case he got any biker friends."

Chef had finally had enough. He pushed through the EZ Crew. Grabbed the mouse' motorcycle by the handlebar and punched the biker mouse in his mousy face as hard as he could. The mouse fell to the ground, his nose bleeding drops of flat, painted, two dimensional blood. He grabbed Janice off the back, untied her and set her back on her feet. Kissing her, he turned around, grabbed the mouse by his adorable biker jacket and dragged him to the feet of the Rastafarian vigilante crew.

"Here. Here is the criminal. I've brought him to justice you Jamaican Jerk mouse. You idiot. I dont even know how you find your way out of your house in the morning, much less the solution to any crime! You are fools and I highly recommend you go look for cheese on spring loaded tables and do the world a favor!"

Rastamouse looked down at the biker, intensely confused.

"Dis be pretty awkward. Mi not know how to handle dis outside da normal routine. Normally we catch dem in a lie and call dem out den dey admit to everything and say how sorry dey are. Den we make a bad ting good by finding a purpose for dem and dey become one of our bes friends."

The criminal looked up.

"Actually Rastamouse. Mi a remorseless sociopath wit evil in mi heart. Mi never stopped da teefin' and mi crimes dey gon get wors an wors."

"Oh" said Rastamouse. "In dat case mi guess mi jus turn you in to our harsh Mouseteego Bay prison system. And dat how wi make a bad ting...go away for a long long time..."

Chef still embracing Janice began to wonder what to do next. They were still miniature. They couldn't stay here. He would end up killing everybody. Starting with that popping mouse. That terrible terrible popping mouse! As his mind raced, Janice felt a bulge in his jacket pocket and reached in to discover the cheese. The special cheese that started all of this. The cheese Everton bought! What ever happened to Everton? Oh well.

"Maybe this will fix things." Said Janice "Maybe if we eat it again it will reverse all this."

"Well," said chef, "It could be magic cheese that transported us here. Or we could be having delusions brought on by the fact that it's poisoned. Eating it could send me back or finish me off once and for all. I guess it's win/win!"

They both closed their eyes and took a bite.

Chef immediately knew he had changed. He was back in London, he could sense it. He was having trouble opening his eyes but he was mouse sized no longer! He felt like he was swaying back and forth. Probably residual effects of the cheese. Suddenly he began to speak but not his own words. He could hear and feel the words coming out of him but had no control.

"Yeah! Take it away Ernie! It's gonna be a boompy ride!"

The magical, double decker bus sped down the street on its reckless way to the Leaky Cauldron and Chef was along for the ride.

And another bad ting was just gettin' started!


End file.
